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Knock knock knock.
Techno jolts awake, flying upright in bed.
Downstairs, the pounding on his front door continues, another steady knock knock knock reaching the second floor where Techno sleeps.
“One second,” he mumbles, even though he knows it won’t reach the person at the door. He rolls out of bed, groggy again now that the momentary alarm of being woken up is gone.
Yawning, he carefully makes his way down the ladder, not bothering to run a hand through his bedhead before opening the door. There’s only one person who knows where his base is, and Techno doesn’t care about appearances around him.
“Good morning,” Philza Minecraft says, a soft smile wide on his face. GOOD MORNING!!! the voices yell back, having a rare moment of unity.
Techno just grumbles. “It’s so early. We’re not leaving for-” he peers outside, noting the still-dark sky, “another hour at least.”
“That’s alright! I wanted to get an early start on the day.”
Techno squints at him, eyes blurry with sleep. How do morning people exist?
“C’me in,” he grunts, waving Phil in as he turns around, walking into his kitchen. The door shuts behind him, and Phil’s footsteps follow.
First things first: tea. Techno’s never been a coffee person; he finds that a cup of tea does the job just as well, without the inevitable caffeine crash that coffee brings. This morning, he thinks he wants his rose petal tea. He’d pressed it himself, and it had been one of the few non-essential things he’d brought with him from his old base.
The kettle goes over the fire, the tea leaves in his mug. A few minutes later, they’re joined by the water, just a dozen degrees or so short of boiling.
Once Techno has let the water go a dark enough shade of pink, once he’s burnt his tongue on his first sips, his tunnel vision finally lets up, and he focuses back in on Phil, who’s leaning in the doorway watching him bemusedly.
“Y’want any?” Techno offers, realizing that he probably should have asked that earlier. Phil laughs, familiar with his son’s flightiness.
“I’m alright, thank you.”
Techno shrugs. “More for me.” He takes another tiny sip. It’s cool enough to chug now, probably; he just wants to savor the taste. The scent of the tea fills the air in his kitchen, warm and just a bit sweet.
Phil disappears from the doorway, and Techno can hear him flop down on the couch in the living room.
“Let me know when you’re ready to go,” he yells, and Techno makes a noise of affirmation back.
The sun is just starting to come up, and it shines through the kitchen window. Techno turns to face it, savoring in its warmth on his face. The light scatters itself over the pristine, untouched snow outside, almost too bright for him to look at without shielding his eyes.
Cradling his mug in one hand, he absentmindedly stretches his other arm out, wrinkling his nose at the pops in his back and shoulder. He passes the teacup over and repeats the process before relaxing and downing the last of his tea in one gulp.
Now that his quiet, sacred morning routine is done, the last of the fog is cleared from his head, he can finally get started with his day.
Techno climbs back up the ladder, Phil’s eyes on his back. His pyjama pants are replaced with his usual leather ones, his ratty sleep shirt being traded out for a linen tunic. His chainmail chestplate, chipped but hardy, comes off its stand and goes over his head. He pulls his cloak off the wall with now-gloved hands, slinging it over his shoulders and latching it around his collarbone.
Finally, he just needs to take care of his hair. He casts a look around, before realizing he’s left his brush in the bathroom downstairs.
Phil raises his eyebrow when he sees Techno’s clothes.
“Bit dressed up for turtle hunting, ay?”
“Never hurts to be prepared,” he shrugs. “I just need to take care of my hair and then I’ll be ready.”
Phil nods, and as Techno slides through the bathroom door, he can hear him shuffling around on the couch, probably getting up.
The brush is, just as Techno thought, on the side of the sink exactly where he’d left it.
He’s got an extraordinarily bad case of bedhead, he finds out as he starts straightening it. His long pink hair is tangled, and there’s more than one tricky knot that he has to hack away at for far too long.
His brush snags on a particularly bad tangle, and he lets out an involuntary swear at the shock of it.
“You good in there?” Phil asks. He’s perched in the doorway again.
“Fine,” Techno retorts.
“Want some help?”
Techno side-eyes him for a moment, and then huffs and tosses the brush at him. Phil catches it out of the air perfectly.
“Sure.”
Phil gestures at the edge of the bathtub. “Sit, then.”
Techno doesn’t think he’s actually let his dad brush his hair since he was a piglet still. He’d gone through a fierce phase of wanting to be strong and independent in his early teens, and he’s barely seen Phil at all since he moved out of the farmhouse he grew up in.
Sitting here, now, he’s not sure why he hadn’t let Phil do it.
His eyes fall half-shut as his dad’s fingers card through his hair, following the brush. He lets out a slight involuntary sigh. The voices are awfully quiet, too, just piping up with the occasional “Dadza”.
It’s been a while since he’s turned his unguarded back towards someone, and it’s been even longer since he felt safe doing so. For just a minute, in his slightly-grimy bathroom, surrounded by soft lantern light, he just relaxes.
Phil’s fingers withdraw from his scalp, and Techno blinks as he something plops down on top of his hair. He reaches up, and his fingers meet cold metal - his crown.
He stands, Phil handing the brush back to him, and in the mirror he can see that his hair’s perfectly braided just the way he likes it.
“Thanks,” he rumbles.
“Of course.”
Techno, for a very brief moment, smiles down at his dad, and he gets a smile back.
Then he coughs. “Let’s go,” he says, breaking the soft silence. He doesn’t do well with touchy-feely shit, never has.
But, Techno’s braid is the neatest it’s been in half a decade, and the stress that lines Phil’s face has faded just a bit, and that’s enough for the both of them.
“Let’s get those turtles!” Phil crows from behind him.
They set out in the opposite direction of the SMP looking for a beach, Techno on Percy’s back and Phil on Andrew’s. Phil doesn’t have a horse of his own; he’d flown to Techno’s base on his own two wings, and the disparity between flying and riding horseback is great enough that Techno had decided to offer up Andrew temporarily.
Techno’s horses are fast. Even then, it still takes a long while to reach a beach, and by the time they’ve found one, the sun beats down on them from high overhead.
The horses are leashed to a temporary fence-post Phil sticks into the ground, and then Techno’s sinking his boots into the sand.
He basks in the sun’s warmth, face turned skyward; for all the security and isolation that his snow-coated base offers him, the temperature sucks , especially for a Netherborn hybrid like himself.
Phil, next to him, takes off his bucket hat and ruffles his feathers, clearly a bit more effected by the sun.
“Nerd,” Techno teases. “Can’t even handle a little heat.”
Phil wheezes. “Not all of us are used to 90 degree weather!” he protests, laughing.
“Neeeerd.”
Techno grins, wide and sharp, as Phil lightly shoves his shoulder. His dad perks up and points a ways down the beach.
“Turtle,” he says, and sure enough, when Techno looks, there’s a distant green shape pulling itself through the sand.
Techno starts running towards it. “Last one to find an egg is a loser!” he calls back over his shoulder.
“Techno!”
The turtle’s back in the ocean by the time Techno reaches it, but there’s a telltale lump in the sand that it’s left behind. He crouches down, pushing away the wet sand with his hands. He does not intend on being a loser.
Three green-speckled eggs peek up at him from under the sand. He holds one up to Phil, who’s panting from the run over.
“Gottem.”
“Techno,” Phil says again chidingly, though his eyes wrinkle around the corners. “You’re so competitive, and for what?”
Techno shrugs, shit eating grin painted across his face. “Born and raised.”
Phil huffs good-naturedly. “Problem child.” With that, he turns away, strolling further up the beach, eyes trained on the ground. Techno, too, turns his attention back to the eggs.
Carefully, Techno pries the other two out of the sand. Once they’re all unearthed, he slings his bag over his shoulder and onto the ground, carefully tucking each of the eggs in one of the cushioned, pre-prepared pockets inside.
Just to make sure he’s not missing anything, he pokes around in the nearby sand. There’s nothing else there, though, and so he moves on.
This beach seems to have been a particular hotbed for the sea turtles, judging by the sheer number of eggs that Techno finds. Before long, he’s pretty sure he’s almost got everything he needs - combine that with what Phil’s found, and surely, they have more than enough.
Techno’s heading over to talk to Phil, who’s a ways up the beach, when he stops dead in his tracks. If he hadn’t been staring so intently at the ground, he might have missed the little creature under his feet.
A turtle, so small it has to be a baby, lies in the sand.
Crouching, Techno reaches out towards it, hand stilling a bit when it makes a low hissing noise at him. He scoops it up with one hand, and it squirms in his grip.
Almost immediately, it’s clear why the baby was left behind; one of its front flippers has a gash on it, likely rendering it unable to swim. Techno frowns at the wound.
“Whatcha got there?” Phil asks.
“Baby turtle,” Techno muses, peering at it. “Abandoned by its parents.”
“Oh.” Phil squats down next to him, joining him in staring at it. The turtle hisses at him too, and absentmindedly, Techno pats the back of its shell.
The little thing clearly won’t survive on its own. It’s too young, not to mention its injury. Without someone to care for it, it’d die to the seagulls or starvation, sooner or later.
The voices are strangely compassionate, for once, screaming baby - dadnoblade - SAVE HIM!! in a chorusing din. Usually, they reserve their excitement for Phil and Phil alone - anything else is a potential target.
And, well, if they demand it, Techno won’t disagree.
He pets the shell of the turtle again, and if he’s extra gentle, nobody has to know about that except him and the voices.
“What’re you gonna do with it?” Phil asks, and Techno smiles just a bit.
“Keep it.”
They leave again pretty soon after that - Techno’s found all the eggs he needs, and he wants to get his new companion home as soon as possible to take care of the gash on its flipper.
The way home is far quicker, without any of the meandering searching that they’d had to do to find the beach in the first place. Now, they know where they’re going, and so they’re back home with a couple hours to spare before the sun sets.
Techno spares one hand to hold the turtle against his chest the entire way back. Phil smiles when he notices it, and Techno stares at him, daring him to say something.
Percy and Andrew go back in their respective stalls, and Carl gets a pat on the side of the nose from Techno. The voices preen at that; a small contingency of them have been yelling at Techno to show his horse some affection all day.
Phil’s holding the door open for Techno when he gets there, and Techno nods his thanks as he ducks inside.
He beelines directly to the bathroom, nudging the already-ajar door open with his foot. The turtle goes in the tub, and Techno plops down on the other side, peering over the edge. He lets a scarred hand dangle down into the basin, his fingers gently splayed at a good distance in front of the turtle’s face.
“Little Turtle,” he says, voice uncharacteristically soft. “You don’t believe in government, do you, Mister Turtle.”
Behind him, Phil snorts, and Techno looks up at him. His glare doesn’t have any edge to it.
The turtle tries to nibble on his finger, catching his full attention again. He smiles down at it; his lips don’t move beyond a slight quirk, but his eyes crinkle at the edges.
“I’ll put the eggs away,” Phil says. “Leave you two alone for a minute.”
Techno rolls his eyes at his father, but he relinquishes his bag up anyway. Phil whisks away into the other room, and Techno can hear him bustling around.
He turns his eyes back down to the turtle, reaching over to the sink to snatch the gauze he keeps on the little shelf under the mirror. Tearing a piece of gauze off the roll, he reaches into the bathtub to scoop the turtle up again.
It hisses at him again, and he realizes with a jolt that he probably shouldn’t be picking it up so much.
“Sorry,” he mutters under his breath, cleaning and wrapping the little thing’s flipper with steady, practiced hands. As soon as he can, he deposits it back in the tub, and it returns to scooting around, exploring its surroundings.
Sea grass - feed him - sea grass - sea grass - E, the voices say. Obligingly, Techno goes rummaging through his pockets, pulling out a wad of seaweed and proffering it up gently.
The turtle chews on it, finally leaving Techno’s fingers alone.
Phil pokes his head back into the bathroom.
“Egg’s’re taken care of,” he says, and Techno nods, still looking down at the little turtle crawling around the tub. “We should probably set up a habitat or somethin’ for the little guy.”
“We?”
Phil shrugs. “I can stick around for a bit, help out. If you want, of course.”
Techno blinks. He’s not complaining, but he had assumed that Phil would head back to his own base before the day was over.
“That’d be nice,” he says eventually, sending a slight smile up towards his dad.
Phil smiles back.
And so, at the end of the day, when Techno’s doffed his armor and let his hair down, when the turtle’s been given a little bowl of water and a littler bowl of seaweed, Phil sleeps on the couch downstairs.
Techno can hear his dad’s snoring from his bedroom. For the first time in a while, he falls asleep quickly and easily.
The moon slides back into sleep, and the mid-morning sun sees Techno and Phil scouting out the edges of a pond close to Techno’s house.
It’s within eyesight of the second floor window, nestled away from the rest of the world by three little hills. It’s also cold, half-frozen over with a thin layer of ice, but that can be fixed.
Phil sketches out a design for the habitat (he’s always been the best at designing builds) as Techno paces in circles around his house, killing any mobs he can get his hands on. He’s retired, but that doesn’t stop the bloodthirstiness of the voices, and at least killing mobs is far better than killing people.
After a bit, Phil calls him over, holding a piece of paper in his direction. “Take a look at this, let me know what you think.”
Techno peers down at it. The design is a glass dome, spruce logs serving as support between the curved panes. More wood lines the bottom edge, and there’s a little outcrop with a door in it sketched on one side.
Frankly, it’s ages better than anything Techno could come up with. He says as much, and Phil smiles.
“Right, then,” he says, standing and beating the sand off of the hems of his cloak and wings. “We can get started gathering materials after lunch.”
The two of them head back to the house to eat their meal. Techno pulls some steak that he’s been saving out of the icebox, leaving it on the counter to defrost as the furnace heats up. In the meantime, he can check on his new companion.
The turtle is, predictably, still in the bathtub where he left it. Techno reaches down into the basin, slowly and gently, giving the turtle a chance to inspect his hand before he moves to touch it. It doesn’t hiss at him or make any other noises of discontent, so he figures it’s alright.
Gently, he pats the turtle on its shell, and then he peels away the bandage around its flipper to peek at the wound underneath. To be perfectly honest, Techno doesn’t know a lot about turtle anatomy, but it looks like it’s coming along nicely anyway. There’s none of the telltale signs of infection, no pus or blood leaking out of it. The small, small amounts of healing potion that Techno had carefully laced the turtle’s water with seems to be working.
"You should name him," Phil says from behind him, and Techno hums in agreement.
Something with a T would be nice, he thinks. The voices respond almost immediately.
trevor - TOMMY LOL - toby - Trent!
Techno blinks. Most of those are trash, but one stands out.
"Your name is Toby now," he tells the turtle seriously. The turtle - Toby - looks back up at him with its beady little eyes.
Phil coos. "Aww, that's cute!"
"It is not cute," Techno declares, monotone. "It is the name of a fierce warrior. This turtle will be - why are you laughing, Phil? This turtle will be a brave soldier one day! He will follow in his father's footsteps!"
Toby bites at Techno's fingers again. Techno sighs and relinquishes up another little bundle of seaweed. Phil's wheezes double in the background.
Lunch, when they finally get around to it, is a quiet affair in the best way possible. Techno and Phil eat their steak and carrots, making simple conversation. Mostly, though, they’re both eager to get to building.
Just before they leave again, Techno stops short. “One second,” he tells Phil, slipping into the back of the house and peeking into the bathroom.
“Be back soon, Toby,” he says. He’s not sure what’s compelled him to do so.
The voices, in a rare moment of coherency, all yell “AWWWW” simultaneously.
“Shut up,” he mutters back. “I am not soft.”
Phil smiles at him as he returns to the front door. Techno brushes past him, glancing back to make sure he’s following.
The design that Phil made turns out to be particularly efficient, considering that Techno already had quite a bit of pre-smelted glass and that his house neighbors a spruce forest. With their ridiculously overpowered axes (Techno may be retired, but his gear is not), the two of them make quick work of gathering the wood.
From there, it’s just a matter of following the exact blueprint. First, they terraform the pond, smoothing the edges and making it into a crescent shape. Then, they put the wood down, and then the glass over the wood.
Much like lunch, they don’t talk a lot, simply happy to work in silence side by side. Techno’s not a very talkative person, and Phil’s used to the loneliness of hardcore servers - the quiet suits both of them well.
They make good time. Before Techno knows it, he’s already stoking the campfires that are going to keep the habitat warm, the sun starting to lower in the sky overhead.
There’s a creak, and Techno turns to see Phil fitting the door onto its hinges carefully.
“I think that’s it,” his dad says, clapping his hands together. “We can let it heat up overnight and then Toby can move in.”
Techno hums in response. He ducks out of the habitat and stands a ways back, surveying the area. It’s come out well.
Phil comes to stand next to him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Techno leans into the touch ever so slightly.
Morning, for once, can’t come soon enough. Techno’s not up before Phil - he’s never up before Phil - but he’s certainly awake far earlier than usual.
First things first, before he even changes out of his pyjamas, he’s checking on Toby. The wound is almost gone, now, more akin to a superficial scratch than the fierce gash it was just a couple days ago. Techno’s recipe for healing potions is very good, if he does say so himself.
He gently pets Toby on the back of his shell for a minute or two, before getting off the floor and going to get dressed.
By the time he stumbles back downstairs, still shoving his left hoof into its respective boot, Phil’s already standing by the door, ready to go.
“One minute!” Techno calls, darting into the bathroom. He snatches his hair tie off the bathroom sink, putting his hair up in a hasty bun.
“It’s all good! Take your time,” Phil calls back.
Techno glances in the mirror, doing a quick mental check; he has everything he needs, he thinks. Thick winter cloak, check. Glasses, check. Gloves, check.
The voices try to convince him he’s forgetting something. Joke’s on them. Techno won’t fall for that, not again.
All that’s left is Toby himself.
He squats down by the tub again, reaching out one hand and letting Toby poke at it. Once Toby has deemed Techno’s hand satisfactory, Techno gently scoops him up, clutching him close to his chest.
“Let’s go, little guy,” he says, carting him back into the living room.
The walk to the habitat is short. That doesn’t mean that Techno isn’t the most careful he’s ever been. His hands are firm around Toby, although not restrictive, and he glances down every couple seconds just to confirm that the turtle is still there.
Phil holds the wooden door to the enclosure open. Techno can feel the warm air wash over him the second he steps in - good. Toby deserves warmth.
He squats, setting Toby down on the sand. “Go on, brave warrior,” he says sagely. “The world is your oyster.”
Toby slowly scoots towards the water, and then into it, and then Techno is watching him swim for the first time since he found the turtle abandoned on the beach. The voices hum, pleased, and Techno allows himself to smile just a little.
“I’m so proud of him,” Phil sniffs, wiping a fake tear from under his eye. “Our little boy, all grown up.”
Techno stands back up, proud and tall. Phil stands at his side, wings fluffed. Toby does laps in his pond.
Retirement was the best decision of Techno’s life.